A MOUNTAIN TARN, 167 



stand to-day, having found so comfortable a 

 seat in the water-worn hollows of a granite 

 boulder. But the young landscape painter 

 from Manchester, who is making such a 

 pretty picture of the glen from his tent close 

 by, can throw a fly as well as any man in Lan- 

 cashire ; and when I mentioned to him some 

 time since my wish to get one of these local 

 trout as a specimen for examination, he pro- 

 mised to entice one up for me on the very first 

 morning when the light was unpropitious for 

 sketching in the glen. To-day he dropped 

 in after breakfast to tell me he could spare 

 me a few hours for fishing ; so here we are 

 beside the tarn, and here is the Llyn Gwer- 

 nant trout in person, flapping and floundering 

 on the bare rock at my side — poor creature ! 

 — in its last gasps, while I am calmly pre- 

 pared to watch and report upon its specific 

 peculiarities. I have certain compunctions 

 of my own about the morality of catching a 

 live trout for such a purpose ; but as my 

 artist friend still continues angling for more^ 



